


godless and free

by redledgers



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/F, Oral Sex, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sexual Content, Vaginal Fingering, fuckruary2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:21:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22686157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redledgers/pseuds/redledgers
Summary: She’s not sure how they got there, but she knows it doesn't matter.
Relationships: Eve/Mazikeen (Lucifer TV)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	godless and free

**Author's Note:**

> for the fuckruary prompts "oral" and "69"

She’s not sure how they got there, not sure how headlights on the freeway turned to candles lit within the hollows of the church, the warmth of their light casting shadows on high arches, spilling from sconces as if they were holy. Her heels click against the smooth tiles that make a path up to the altar. She walks slowly, almost reverently, like the bride she never was, and Maze follows behind. 

She’s not sure whose idea this was. She stops before the altar and looks up at the crucifix, its holy misery staring down at her, at them. _Why have you come, child?_ She imagines a man in a black robe asking. His face is masked and yet he is faceless, he is familiar and yet he is distant. _I have not come for you,_ she replies in her dream. Maze comes to a stop behind her, fingertips grazing Eve’s hip, and Eve follows the pull, turning to face the demon.

“Go on,” Maze says, pressing firmly against her waist now, as if she could push her toward the altar. And she could, but she would never, not unless Eve asked. 

She should bow. She has seen these traditions before, knows what it is like to be in a holy place, but she also knows what it is like to not belong there. And so she doesn’t. The high ceilings of painted saints, the Holy Mother Mary, the crucifix of a man she saw once, entering the gates of Heaven more humbly than he knew, these eyes watch her as she takes a step, then another, climbing the levels until she stands before the stone slab of the altar. It’s cold beneath her palms, smooth marble, and she traces the veins with a finger.

Maze’s body presses behind her, warm and familiar, and cool stone meets her hips. She’s not sure why they’re there. Not sure why they’re doing this, but she wants it so fiercely. There is reverence to Maze’s movements as she slides her way down Eve’s body until she’s kneeling behind her, hands already finding their way beneath her skirt. 

Soft lips scatter kisses up her thighs, and Maze’s fingers slip beneath the waistband of her panties, leaving traces of fire and starlight in their wake. Eve holds her gaze steady at the symbol of a man that stares down at them, leans heavily against the stone table when Maze noses her core through the lace. She doesn’t care when Maze snaps them off, leaving the fabric to fall to the false stone with a whisper. She can’t care because Maze’s tongue is on her, in her, and she can do nothing but whimper.

What a picture they must make, cast in shadow, a chiaroscuro of blasphemy. The one made to be light and the one born in the dark. Her nails create their own false veins on the marble, invisible yes, but hasn’t she always been invisible here? Maze holds her steady, holds her _here_ , because she is more than their scapegoat and she has survived.

When she comes, she cries out and the Hebrew that spills from her lips is her own sort of worship. Maze’s tongue is gentle on her until her thighs cease their trembling, until her head drops. She watches the shine of the marble fog with every heaving breath, feels the sweat of her sin cooling on her skin. But she is far from finished here.

Eve turns her back to the cross as Maze rises to meet her. She pulls Maze against her, licks into her mouth to taste the brine that is almost like the Dead Sea. But they are the ones who are alive, standing amid a sanctuary of dead souls, of dead faith. And Maze, Maze is fire that burns brighter than a thousand candles; she is live wire and raw power. Eve maneuvers her until she has trapped Maze between her body and the stone table, skates her hands down her chest, over the plane of her stomach, until she can slip her hand into Maze’s leather pants. 

Maze swears against her lips. She’s soaked, and Eve’s fingers press into her easily. The sounds they make together are far holier than any blessing or litany sung from this place, and Eve drinks the sweet wine that Maze offers more deeply than any blessed communion. Eve holds her there, fucks her with fingers that once tilled the soil of Eden. And Maze jerks against her, clenching and coming, drawing blood where she bites Eve's lips. It doesn't matter. It isn't enough. 

_Why have you come, child?_

_I am not a child._

If they believe her to be sinful, let it instead be for the needy sound she makes when Maze licks her taste from her fingers. Let it be for the way she is hauled onto the stone, the way Maze shoves her pants down and climbs atop her. Her weight is far lighter than the burden of humanity, the load she had not wanted but one she could not refuse. This time, their kiss is sweet and gentle. Maze cradles her head, whispers a question against her lips, and Eve cannot say yes fast enough. 

The table is narrow, but Maze swings her body around, curling over Eve, and Eve breaths in the musk-sweet scent of her. She grabs Maze’s waist, pulling her closer even as Maze’s tongue finds her clit. How she wishes they were in bed, an ouroboros in soft sheets, but she buries her tongue in Maze’s cunt all the same, steadies the woman’s hips as they jerk against her face. Each mewl, each gasp, each shift of muscle becomes a part of a building ritual, a sacrificial offering built on the last remnants of her shame. Maze devours her, sending her crashing through the gates of pleasure, and she barely manages to drag Maze after her. When they are finished, Maze moves to sit on her ribs, bent over to rest her head on Eve’s hips as they catch their bearings. She wants to laugh, but it comes out as little more than a breath. 

Eve washes away their sin with holy water on the hem of her dress as Maze pulls on her clothes. She feels the gentle press of lips against the curve of her neck and hands straightening the fabric around her thighs. “Let’s go,” she whispers, and feels the hum of agreement through her skin. Maze takes her hand and leads her down the aisle. The candles glow brighter around them as they leave. Eve stops before the doors, tugging Maze back into her orbit. When she kisses her, she tastes forgiveness and absolution. 

_Why have you come, child?_ the man in black asks.

 _I have always come for her,_ she thinks as she cups Maze’s cheeks. 

And the high ceilings of painted saints, the Holy Mother Mary, the crucifix of a man she never knew look down on them both.


End file.
